


Bare

by moreless



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub Undertones, Hux vs Kylo Ren's horribly excessive decadent untamed locks oh the humanity, Hux vs feelings, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Light Angst, M/M, Power Dynamics, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:15:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28303686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moreless/pseuds/moreless
Summary: Hux isn’t thinking when he does it.In which Hux has a lot of feelings--too many!--about Kylo Ren's hair.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 7
Kudos: 47
Collections: Kylux Secret Santa 2020





	Bare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PalenDrome (nerdherderette)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdherderette/gifts).



> **Additional warning** for non consensual hair cutting.

Hux isn’t thinking when he does it.

He’s leaned against his desk, Ren on his knees before him, large warm hands curled around Hux’s thighs. Mouthing languidly against the strain of Hux’s cloth covered cock. There’s a snifter’s worth of brandy slowly warming Hux’s veins as he idly pushes one hand through Ren’s thick, dark hair. It feels like he hasn’t washed it in a while--it’s greasy, sticks together in thick strands, and if Hux were to draw his finger over the surface of his desk he’d leave behind a smear of oil.

Disgusting, really. The smell of sweat clings to it, clings to all of Ren. Even with Ren on his knees Hux can almost taste it in the air. Animal, a sharp contrast to the tasteless, odorless recycled air of the _Finalizer_ , and the faint clean nothing smell of First Order standard issue soap and First Order uniforms. Ren smells _alive_ , sounds alive, under his hand, growling, breath huffing hotly against Hux’s aching cock as he rubs his cheek against the wet, straining fabric.

His hair is getting longer. Hux idly gathers it into his fist, pulling it back from those ridiculous ears, bunching it into a loose tail at the nape of Ren’s neck. So dangerous if it were freed from that ridiculous helmet. Anyone could just grab that mane in their hand, pull, expose that pale neck to a blade, a blaster muzzle, teeth.

So Hux does that. He enjoys the slight tug of resistance at first, when Ren starts to realise and fights it. Strands start slipping through his fingers, and he tightens his grip. With an annoyed grunt, Ren tips his head back, dark eyes glaring up at him from under his messy fringe. “What?” he growls.

Hux hmmms. He doesn’t meet Ren’s gaze, not when his eyes are such deep dark pools, so he fixes his eyes on that lush mouth, slick with spit, pink from the roughness of his standard issue briefs.

“Keep going,” he says, gives Ren a nudge with his knee. He doesn’t say, _It’s not going to suck itself_. That’d be too crass.

Beneath him, Ren rolls his eyes, his fingers digging a little into Hux’s thighs. A slight warning. Maybe he’s skimmed the thought from Hux’s mind, maybe he’s just reading it in his face. Hux gives his ridiculous hair another tug, this time pulling his face back to the task at hand. Ren’s wet, warm mouth returns to his aching cock.

The hair does make for a lovely leash.

He’s not thinking when he picks up his monomolecular blade from his desk and slices it through Ren’s hair. It comes away cleanly, the shorn inches falling back against Ren’s neck, the short tail already falling apart in his fist. Ren freezes, his mouth half open against Hux’s hip, still breathing hotly--and Hux finally realizes what he’s done.

“What,” Ren growls as strands of his severed hair fall into his face, “did you do?”

Hux just stares, gormlessly. He’s still holding his knife in one hand, Ren’s severed ponytail in the other.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The menace in Ren’s voice makes him move. Hux brings the knife across his chest, aiming to put the desk between the both of them but he’s still got his trousers sagging around his knees, hobbling him. He tries to throw himself aside but Ren’s already on him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and throwing him back against the desk.

His lower back cracks against the edge. It catches him right in the tailbone, the pain whiting out his sight long enough that for one terrifying moment, he wonders if he’s paralyzed. It makes the grip on his knife loosen, and when Ren slams that hand into the desk too, he drops it and it goes skittering somewhere out of reach.

Bent over backwards, pushed so far up the desk his feet almost leave the floor. Hux anticipates hands on his neck, sucks in a breath between his teeth in preparation, but it never comes. Not even a hint of the invisible fingers of the Force, as he’s witnessed time and time again. Ren’s hand tightens on his shirt, hauling him up, knuckles digging into Hux’s throat. He swallows. His heart pounds in his throat, choking him. He doesn’t even need Ren hands for it. And yet for all the throbbing in his lower pain, the shooting pains sparking up his wrist as Ren continues to grind it against the table, Hux is uncomfortably, inconveniently still half-hard, and getting harder still.

Ren breathes heavily over him, his hot sour breath washing over Hux’s cheek. There’s a strange gleam in his eyes as he bares his teeth, and for a fleeting moment Hux wonder’s if he’s about to get his throat torn out. A second rush of adrenaline kicks in and reminds him that he’s still got a hand free. The hand still holding Ren’s hair. And like he would a handful of sand, he throws it in Ren’s face.

The ponytail bursts apart, strands sticking to Ren’s lips and forehead. The rest falls down onto Hux, slipping into the loosened collar of his shirt, prickling his skin with its blunt ends.

Ren keeps staring at him eyes wide with shock yet gaze unreadable. The throbbing of Hux’s lower back and the fist pressing into his throat feel like two points in an age of time, and he is pinned between this moment and the next, stretched thin, waiting for Ren to tear him apart.

“Why?” Ren finally asks again. He sounds hurt, wounded, his plush lower lip actually _trembling_ and Hux feels like he’s entered some sort of fever dream.

“I--” he starts, and his voice breaks on the next word. He licks his lips, tries again. “I don’t know.”

Ren gives him a look of utter disgust. “You really don’t.”

The pressure at Hux’s neck leaves, so sudden he’s forgotten it’s the only thing holding him down in this contortion against his desk. He slithers down to the floor, banging his head against the edge as he goes, down to his knees. He doesn’t bother to look up when he hears the doors to his quarters hiss shut. Ren is gone.

+

He doesn't see Ren for several weeks after that. There is a mission from the Supreme Leader, but in between those Ren seems to have retreated permanently to his quarters. To lick his wounds or plot his revenge, Hux isn’t sure which, and those weeks he stalks the corridors of the _Finalizer_ trying to keep his shoulders from creeping up his neck in paranoia, waiting for those phantom hands to close around him.

One night Hux catches himself wondering what Snoke has to say about Ren’s new look. He doesn't know how deep the Supreme Leader pries into his apprentice’s mind, if he would consider Ren’s new appearance worthy of getting to the bottom of. Unless Ren has of course tattled to his Master at this show of disrespect, though Hux doubts the Supreme Leader will choose to punish him for this act. At this junction he’s too valuable to dispose off--the Starkiller project will stall without him, and once that’s operational he’ll have fully entrenched within the mechanism of the First Order.

He’s not afraid of retribution from that source.

Not that the uncertainty isn’t frustrating; Ren is unpredictable in a way that Hux isn’t used to dealing with, and he refuses to be caught unawares, pinned like an insect to the deck by Ren’s mysterious powers for his crew to see. The shame wouldn’t come so much from the violence, but he cannot trust Ren not to spill. Not since he’s realised the truth that lies behind that ridiculous helmet; that Ren is nothing more than an angry, volatile young man, too soft on the inside. To reveal Ren’s softness before his crew--they might start to suspect that Hux still harbours some too.

Ren is a stubborn beast. He was already disinclined to come to heel, but now with this gone sour between them Hux finds himself dreading the tantrums and destruction that is sure to follow. He had proposed their arrangement under the guise of mutual release, and at the time he’d believed Ren recognized it as the tactical maneuver it was. He’d allowed it, or so it seemed at the time--Hux might have to reevaluate this assumption.

The disgust on Ren’s face, that look of betrayal--Hux hadn’t expected that. Had he not anticipated the attack, or any way prepared for the fact that Hux might seek to use such a moment of vulnerability against him?

And what nags at Hux the most: why the pfassk had he done that? _Why_?

Kriffing hell, Hux thinks, rubbing his temples. His spreadsheets swim before his eyes, a glance to his chrono tells him it's several hours past midnight. Why is he still thinking about this? It’s only hair. It’ll grow back. He self-consciously smooths a hand through his own hair, just barely regulation short. He's never had it longer.

+

He is working late again one night when he hears the entrance to his quarters hiss open. It can only be one person, no one else has the codes, but considering how they’d parted the last time, Hux’s hand drifts carefully to the blaster concealed under his desk. He holds no illusion that he might be able to best Ren in a fight, but he might at least wound him.

Ren strides in. In the mask he looks powerful, untouchable, and he halts several paces away from Hux’s desk. For a moment Hux almost thinks he might kneel. His gloved hands move to his helmet, and Hux finds his breath catching. There is still a chance that that night had been nothing more than a strange dream, a sexual fantasy that had seemed entirely too real.

The helmet drops to the floor.

Hux banishes his hologram display, unsure if they’re warping what he’s seeing. After a long moment, when he’s sure his eyes aren’t betraying him: “What have you done to yourself?”

Ren glares petulantly at him--really, petulant is the only word that comes to mind right now. If he’s trying for stern and inscrutable, he merely looks sulky. For a moment Hux thinks he might be going mad.

“Your hair!”

When he’d lopped off Ren's ponytail in that strange fit of insanity, he’d just taken off the back of it. There’d been enough left to still make it longer than regulation. Enough to frame Ren’s long face, enough to still sift his hands through, to grab, to pull.

All of that is gone now. It’s closely cropped, almost cadet-like in its shortness and it doesn’t suit Ren one whit. The lack of hair highlights his oddly craggy features, how ears stick out from the side of his head, the darkness of his eyes.

He meets Ren’s unflinching gaze. The sulk is still there, in the curve of that wide mouth, but he doesn’t seem embarrassed or self conscious to have Hux see him like this. This is, Hux is acutely aware, not some strange practice of self-flagellation. This is for _him_.

Now Ren sinks slowly to his knees, and in counterpoint, Hux slowly rises from his chair. He rounds the desk, moves to stand before Ren.

Slowly, carefully, as if reaching for a wild animal, he runs his bare fingers over Ren’s shorn head.

There’d been cats at his father’s house on Arkanis, feral, half wild things that lurked about the kitchen door and hunted the vermin that nested in the crawlspace. One had had kittens once, which he’d tried to tame with scraps of food. Only one of them had deigned to respond to his clumsy attempts, snapping food from his fingers and occasionally allowing itself to be patted. Like Ren does now, it’d bristled when he’d stroked it’s short fur against the grain. The kittens had vanished some months after they’d appeared. Hux is sure his father had them drowned.

It’s ridiculous that Ren’s hair would bring to mind those wretched animals--he’s pathetic in a way they’re not, theirs was an accident of birth, to come into the world in his father’s house, but Ren, _Ren_ he seems to seek to be abased, to be made lower despite the vast power he supposed commands. The Force, light or dark, is wasted on him. He could have killed Hux for the violation, and yet here he is, kneeling at his feet. No discipline, no order, no ambition, save for his master’s. Small wonder then that something as simple as personal grooming seemed beyond him. This look--it’s better for him.

From under his dark lashes, Ren shoots him a glare. He’d probably scanned all that off Hux’s mind.

“You hate it,” he says, his voice a low rumble that shatters the weighty silence so completely that Hux almost yanks his hand away.

“Yes,” he says after a moment, trailing his fingers through the bristles at the back of Ren’s ear. Two weeks ago, he would’ve had a proper handhold there, enough to tug, pull, direct. He’s not going to touch Ren’s ears. He’s not sure if he’s allowed to.

“Good.”

Hux starts when Ren starts unbuckling his belt. Despite their positions, a blowjob isn’t what he’s expecting at all. It takes a moment for his body to catch up--he is still soft when Ren tugs him out of his briefs. 

Hux is suddenly all too aware of the proximity of Ren’s teeth to his cock. His cock is going to go right between his teeth. It’s that thought that brings a surge to blood to his groin.

Ren looks up at him, and there’s a shadow of his old grin in the curve of his mouth, the one that Hux sometimes got to see before he fucked it up by panicking and cutting off all his hair.

That pfassking hair! He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he settles them on Ren’s broad shoulders. The bareness there is noticeable too, there are no heavy strands left of brush the back of his hands, to tickle the insides of his wrists.

Ren takes his cock down his throat with little preamble, and Hux’s hands tighten on his shoulders at the suddenness. He hardens completely in Ren’s hot mouth, heart rate and pleasure both spiking simultaneously. Common sense dictates he break this off right now, send Ren away and put a stop to this entirely, but common sense, Hux reflects briefly, had sort of left him the moment he’d first let Ren push him up against a wall and kiss him.

The view from above, seeing those plush lips wrapped around his cock, makes Hux a little weak at the knees, as it always does. Usually he’d thread his fingers through Ren’s hair here, lean a little into him, but now he has nothing, and he locks his knees as his hands shift restlessly on Ren’s shoulders. Slowly he starts to fuck Ren’s mouth, watching him take it with little complaint, though he keeps watching Hux from beneath his lashes, and Hux gazes back, unable to look away.

He relaxes into a rhythm, choosing to give into pleasure instead of paranoia. Ren shifts then, dropping lower to sit back on his heels, dragging Hux’s cock past his lips to the barest tip of it. With a whine, Hux’s hips shift to follow, even as that tips him foreward, center of gravity shifting. Here he’d usually drag his hands up Ren’s shoulders, his thick neck, balance himself with a grip in his hair, but now he finds, with a sudden lurch, that hands remain stuck fast to Ren’s shoulders. It’s as though another pair of hands, hard, immovable, have covered his own, keeping him leaning over Ren, off balance.

Ren pulls off his cock, licking his reddened, spit-shiny lips. The look he shoots Hux is almost mischievous.

“What is this?” Hux snaps. “No games, Ren. If you are unwilling--”

“I’m very much willing, general,” Ren interjects. “But you seem to enjoy denying yourself. I’m extending the exercise.”

Hux tries to pull back. If he can’t get off he might as well get out. But Ren won’t let him go.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snarls. “Is this about your hair? I would’ve thought Snoke had beaten the vanity out of you.”

“Snoke doesn’t care about my hair.” Ren’s keeping Hux so close his hot breath washes over his cock with every word. His hips jerk forward, but Ren tips his head back, remaining just out of reach. “But clearly you do. You think a lot about it. You’ve been thinking about it this whole time, even after it’s gone.”

“What do you want?” Hux is trembling now, both from frustrated arousal and the effort of keeping himself up in this off-kilter half-bow. “An apology?”

Ren tilts his head back and seems to contemplate him for a long moment. There’s nothing in his face to betray what’s going through his head. Hux’s erection is flagging and he’s almost grateful for it--maybe Ren will give up with this ridiculous game.

But he takes it back into his mouth, with just the barest hint of teeth as he sinks down completely onto his length, and a keening shout bursts forth from Hux’s mouth. He still can’t straighten properly, nor can he brace himself comfortably against Ren, and a painful knot of stress is building right between his shoulder blades.

He comes anyway, spilling across Ren’s cheek as he pulls away right before. A rope of come catches him across the lips, and Ren casually thumbs in away, before wrapping his hand around Hux’s cock, catching his spend and smearing the mess back up the shaft, wringing it until Hux is hissing from the overstimulation.

He lets go then, the invisible grip on Hux’s hands loosening too. He crashes to his knees before Ren, breathing heavily, and doesn’t offer up any resistance when Ren smears his filthy hand across the breast of his jacket to clean it.

Pfassk, he still looks so strange without it hair. “Will you grow it back out?” he asks. It’s the closest he’ll get to an apology. He’ll manage to stay his hand next time. And Ren will be looking out for it.

“Yes,” Ren says, looking entirely too pleased for a man who hasn’t yet come. “But it's not for you to touch. Not anymore.”


End file.
